


Get Up There In Your X-Wing And Shoot Down That Sun

by osheamobile



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Askbox Fic, M/M, Morning After, Rogue Squadron, Squad(ron) Goals, Stackpole Era, This Is Why You Don't Ever Give Hobbie And Janson Ammunition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:22:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5496905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osheamobile/pseuds/osheamobile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loudly and publicly resigning from the Rebellion is something you only do once in a lifetime, but there are consequences that Wedge Antilles hadn't even considered.</p><p>Set between The Krytos Trap and The Bacta War.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Up There In Your X-Wing And Shoot Down That Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brinnanza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brinnanza/gifts).



> Anonymous asked: Non-spoilery Rogue Squadron fic please! (I just finished the Krytos Trap, haven't done the Bacta War yet). Pretty much anything, but I'm particularly keen on Wedge's obvious (and possibly unrequited) feelings for Tycho. : )
> 
> I don’t ship that ship but okay! (Also, “unrequited” my ass. Wedge Antilles does not do anything halfway.)

It was bright. Brighter than the hottest suns, the light searing its way through his very eyelids. He had flown through fireballs that burned less. If the pain drilling through his skull was any indication, in fact, he may soon be wishing for a funeral.

“Come on, Wedge, rise and shine!”

Delete that. He most _definitely_ was wishing for a funeral now.

“What’s wrong, Wedge? You never sleep in this late. Always up at the crack of dawn.”

“To be fair, he’s not military anymore. Can’t be adhering to military schedules now that he’s a civilian!”

“Oooh, that’s _right_. Civilian Wedge. We’d better help him look the part. Quick, let’s find his shirts and wrinkle them!”

 _Two_ funerals.

He groaned and sat up, attempting to force past the hangover and open his eyes. Hobbie and Jansen were standing in front of him, grinning far too cheerfully to be properly legal.

He considered his various responses, then settled for a simple glare. “What are you doing in my quarters?”

“His quarters,” said Wes Jansen. “He thinks he’s in his quarters. Isn’t that so sweet?”

“Can’t be in quarters you no longer have. That would defeat the purpose of deserting.”

“Hobbie, be kind. The man’s clearly hung over after quitting his cushy starfighter piloting job.”

“If I gave the finger to Borsk Fey'lya, I’d get drunk pretty quickly too.”

“Which is what brings us here!”

Wedge struggled to keep up. The pounding in his head certainly wasn’t helping anything, nor was his stomach’s demands to empty itself in the nearest refresher station. “Enough,” he growled. “I get it. Bossman isn’t the bossman anymore, so it’s time to get some jokes in at his expense. Can we move on to the part where you tell me what you’re doing here before I throw you off the balcony?”

Jansen’s grin, if it was even possible, grew even more suggestive. “We came to bug Tycho for deserting. Probably not why _you’re_ here, though.”

Tycho?

Wedge finally glanced around him. The residential unit he was currently in was orderly, if not tidy, and certainly not one that he was familiar with, though the Alderaanian mementos and landscape holos lining the wallspace were certainly evocative of his former Executive Officer.

Memories of the night before started dancing in front of his thoughts. Resigning his commission in front of what seemed like half of Coruscant. Celebrating Tycho Celchu’s release from prison and what Nawara wryly called “a fortunate mistrial”. Walking with his squadmates back from the gala, practically reveling in the adrenaline from their act of rebellion. And, somewhat more hazy through the pain and alcohol, the eventual continuation of their celebration late into the evening.

“Out,” he snapped, thrusting his arm out and pointing towards the doorway.

“What, and leave you by yourself while you wait for Tycho? I don’t think so.”

Jansen didn’t even blink as a pillow bounced off his head. “Alright, alright, we’re leaving.”

As the doorway held itself open, Hobbie turned around and, with a casual shrug, said, “If it helps, we were going to bug you after seeing Tycho. It’s not our fault you saved us the trouble of walking.”

The door slid shut with a final _thunk_.


End file.
